


Apple Pie Sensibility

by Pastelbees



Series: Poetry [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hidden Relationship, M/M, Poetry, Trying to work on my poetry skills lord help me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 13:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8210954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastelbees/pseuds/Pastelbees
Summary: Sam is a puppet waiting to cut the strings.





	

Sometimes he thinks he can pretend.

Put on a show, 

Keep with the act, 

Til the finale when the audience claps and the world commends him for such a fine, fine deed.

"Oh thank you, good sir." They'd say, patting his back after he had been sacked.

"You kept us so safe," Would shout the greats,

An array of people "too good" for a common man like Sam in his time, 

Knowing only in death the sacrifices he'd made for the world.

So yes, sometimes he thinks he can pretend.

-

But pretend what? 

There's so many lies in his life, 

He could lie on his bed for days, 

Counting up all the deceitful ways, 

He had lived in them and with them and acted upon them, 

But his lies were bleach white,

Poison sacrifice.

-

Gabriel takes Sam's hand on a hunt, in the dark when nobody can see.

He kisses him too, 

In places absent of light so they might continue their masquerade, their platonic facade, in the day.

But there is no masking the sounds the two make when they're alone, 

Desperate, pleading moans.

There's no disguising the feeling, pleasure and pain in their passionate shouts of names.

He holds his hand in the woods, and Sam returns to touch sevenfold in the bedroom come midnight.

And they pretend, oh they do, in daylight.

-

He tells the world he is an agent, a doctor, a famed politician, a yoga instructor, a clergyman.

He keeps his supersuit of sorts under tight suits and soft t-shirts, a tattoo tying him to a senseless occupation.

But all the money in the world couldn't suffice,

All the fame he could gather if he just released his tongue instead of holding it so tight when he was forced to work the odd jobs for the real job.

And Sam would pretend, continuing the same dance as his father and mother and grandparents before her, that he didn't wish for something else, something that was hidden behind closed doors and the obsidian filled nights.

He'd pretend he wouldn't trade the life of a hidden hero for one month with a man in a house with a white picket fence.


End file.
